


if i give an inch you get a mile

by Kandakicksass



Series: [we are] that kind of crazy [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Anal Sex, Batsybaby is complicated, Dysfunctional Relationships, How in hell do I tag this shit, Joker's cute as hell petnames, Love/Hate, M/M, Rough(ish) sex, Self-Loathing, Whatwhat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kandakicksass/pseuds/Kandakicksass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is that he can’t keep up hatred and want at the same time; they're too strong. He gives in a little and ends up giving a lot, giving everything, and Joker is happy to take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i give an inch you get a mile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EqualsEquivalent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EqualsEquivalent/gifts).



> I had some feels? Also, I owed my best friend a drablette and really wanted to write some JokerMan. So.

Bruce Wayne hates himself.

It’s not even a secret, really; he’s shit at hiding it. Anyone who paid attention would be able to tell without a second glance, but it’s his luck that the one to take interest – a deep-rooted, long-term interest – would be the one person that causes him to hate himself the most.

He enjoys it, too. He knows that he does. It’s evident in the way his hand caresses over Bruce’s chest (uncharacteristically soft) and his lips press kisses to the back of Bruce’s neck.

The way his hips roll forward into Bruce’s ass, fingers gripping too-tight at Bruce’s hips.

Oh, it’s obscene, all right. There’s red paint smeared across his neck and if he turns his head, green corkscrew curls obscure his vision. The fingers that bruise him are thin and long, delicate and too strong. The cock inside of him ( _wrongwrongwrong_ and right at the same time) is long with a slight upward curve. The man brutally taking his body is longer and more graceful and both too good and too awful for the famous Batman.

Everything is too much.

Joker doesn’t care about his personal crisis, though. He doesn’t give a damn whether Bruce is having a panic attack or not. He just takes what he wants and gives what he wants to and somehow that makes things slightly easier – which is exactly what Bruce needs.

He doesn’t have any control anymore; he gave that away when he let this monster into his house and into his bed. He only writhes and groans and, memorably, gives a breathy, high-pitched whine.

“That’s right, Brucey-boy,” Joker hums in his ear, slightly breathless. “Look how well you’re _ta_ king me. Aw, sugar, this is my favorite way to fight you.” He giggles against Bruce’s neck and he can feel the short puffs of breath against his skin. It makes him shiver.

(His body doesn’t care who this is against him. It just knows that he’s an instrument tuned to one person’s hands.)

“Joker,” he whines and that makes Joker thrust into him just that much harder. He _loves_ the acknowledgement that Bruce knows who’s fucking him.

“Yeah, Batsy baby?” Those sharp hipbones are going to leave bruises on him. It’s _delicious_. Even more delicious is the way Joker says ‘baby,’ emphasizing the _b_ so that it pops against his slick skin.

He reaches back, swallowing, and laces his fingers with those of the hand on his right hip. He pulls their hands down to where his cock is straining against his abdominal muscles. “Touch me,” he pants. “Joker, please.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joker coos and his fingers uncurl to stroke over Bruce’s length. “You didn’t have to _beg_ ; you know how much I just _luh-_ ve to touch you.” He tugs too hard and Bruce cries out. Joker just laughs into his ear.

“You bastard,” he keens, but they both know he wouldn’t want it any other way.

The thing is, Bruce doesn’t understand a word that Joker says most of the time because there is a hidden meaning in everything he says. It’s like another language that Bruce isn’t privy to. He only gets the emotion, the spirit of the words. _I hate you_ means _I love you_ and _I love you_ means _you’re such a good little obsession_. Meanings within meanings wrapped in sin wrapped in velvet. His Joker is classy and puerile and perfectly disturbed. Bruce just doesn’t understand until they’re wrapped in his silk sheets and fucking like they never want to part.

Joker’s had his fun and wraps those long fingers where Bruce wants them, stroking, his thumb pressing into his slit. He teases the veins on his cock and squeezes a bit harder than Bruce normally does on himself and he makes Bruce make sounds he never makes with anyone else.

Joker loves to _wreck_ him, in any way he can. Seeing Joker with pupils blown and cheeks red from exertion, Bruce can understand.

He notices, sometime after Joker’s finished and just lays there pressed against Bruce’s back giggling softly every few minutes on an exhale, that it’s four in the morning. They’ve wasted the night away, but then again, that is the whole point of the Joker. He does what he wants and has a good fucking time doing it.

He knows that Joker has his cronies out making mischief on his absence, and that the Batman isn’t out there stopping it.

Bruce is weak.

The thing is that he can’t keep up hatred and want at the same time; they're too strong. He _gives_ in a little and ends up giving a lot, giving everything, and Joker is happy to take it. He saves his hatred for their battles, for blow after blow of wanting it to end and then Joker will say something or do something (a hand is usually what does it; a hand on his thigh or arm or exploring the muscles of his stomach) and Batman with burn up with want, leaving only the need. And god, does he need.

“You were su _perb_ tonight, sugar. Really excellent,” Joker says, childlike excitement in his voice. He sounds so proud, like Bruce is a toy who’s performed exceptionally well.

“That’s great,” he grunts, feeling that flicker of hatred start to return, and Joker laughs.

“I can’t get enough of your voice, Brucie; I really can’t. So much better than that growl of yours.” He rolls over and props his chin up in his palm. “But it has its uses. Gets me all _hot_. And bothered.” His grin is sharp and feral. “Always, always bothered.”

He should be outside right now, putting an end to whatever mess Joker has set up. He _knows_ that. But Joker is here, warm and beautiful in a truly sick way. His makeup is smeared all over his face and his long body is relaxed and welcoming. The grin on his face is lethal and terrifying and he still _wants_.

Gotham can wait another night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants more I'd be happy to continue this (small chapters, quick updates, just like my other WIP), but if not this is a standalone. Thanks for reading, guys. :)


End file.
